The Five Joys of Existence
by notevenifyoukillme
Summary: After Angel and Buffy's night together, Angelus realises how efficiently he can destroy The Slayer with the help of the one thing he loathes most: love.
1. Chicken Soup for the Soulless

**Authors Note: **I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of its characters, they are solely the property of Joss Whedon &etc.

I wrote this a few days ago out of boredom. A short story from Angelus' point of view just after Angel has lost his soul. I might continue it, but it'll all depend on whether people like it and whether I can be bothered. Enjoy, comment, review.

* * *

It was an interesting thing; love. Angelus had killed many willing subjects, he had opened his arms to them and in they had come, eager for Death's embrace, all because of love: a dependence on another. In killing the half, he was promised the whole. Yes, it was an interesting thing.

So easy to exploit.

Angelus perused a photograph stored carefully in one of his alter ego's books. He had dealt with and destroyed love before, but never had he had such an ability for destruction and _pain _in his grasp. Even ensouled, Angel had served him well. The game was set, and the first round was just about to begin. He wasn't just going to kill this girl, he was going to _annihilate _her. This thought filled him with such malicious joy as his counterpart had never tasted; the joy of the hunt. The joy of the chase.

The joy of the kill.

The change.

The awakening.

The Slayer, if he _really_ thought about it, was his perfect mate. She was strong, determined and full of fire that would undoubtedly burn anyone in her path to cinders. However, as with all good things there was an equal share of the bad: the goodness in her heart was sickening. The compassion. The _love_.

He'd just have to suck it out.

And he would.

In time.


	2. Lost In Space

**Authors' Note: **I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of its' characters, they are solely the property of Joss Whedon &etc. Unfortunately. :|  
I got that spark of inspiration and wrote this, the second chapter to The Five Joys of Existence. I know it isn't as good and I'd like honest opinions on whether to continue it or not. The scene I've written with Angelus and Spike resembles a few different scenes in the canon, but I just wanted to put my own spin on it (as per usual). Read, comment, review, and advice on how to improve is _always _appreciated.  
Oh, and the song used below is called Lost In Space by Aimee Mann, and I definitely don't own that either.

* * *

Buffy laid on her bed. She was in a place between sleeping and waking and soft music was playing from somewhere in her room. Her thoughts were aflutter and had she been any less lethargic she imagined she would have been crying. Music played and she felt suspended in the air, floating towards nothing.

_'Lost in space, a bubble drifting, into a place where planets shift,'_

In, out, in, out, keep, breathing, in, out, don't, think, in, out,

_'And I'm pretending to care, when I'm not even there, gone but I don't know where,'_

Keep, breathing, Buffy, breathe, in, out, in, out,

_'Lost in space, fills up the bubble with air, by just pretending to care,'_

Breathe!

_'When I'm not even there,'_

You need to get up, Angel could be hurting your friends.

_'Gone, but I don't know where,' _

In, out, in, out, in, out, in, out.

_'Gone, but I don't know where.'_

Angel.

_'So baby beware, I'm just pretending to care,'_

Damn music taste.

"Buffy?" Joyce sang up the stairs, "It's Willow on the phone for you!"

Buffy felt disinclined to talk to Willow so she closed her eyes and ignored the tears burning their way down her cheeks. Her ragged breathing heaved her chest violently as she tried to calm herself and look like she was asleep, maybe just having a bad dream.

"Buffy?" Joyce pushed open her door, "Oh," she said much more quietly into the phone, "Sorry, it looks like she went to bed early. I'll have her call you when she wakes up."

_Gone, but I don't know where.  
_

* * *

That had always been Spike's problem; he couldn't just _watch. _If you didn't watch your prey, how did know how to trap it? Weaken it?

Make it suffer.

*

Spike sat in his wheelchair looking small and angry. "Why don't we just _take _the bloody Slayer? Kill her friends and get her alone so you can give her a nice long kiss. Why do we have to do all of this soddin' skipping around?"

"Because, Spike, there's no poetry in a quick death," Angelus replied coolly, still holding Drusilla close. He'd enjoyed taking Drusilla away from Spike an immense amount, especially with the impaired vampire left with no defence and honestly, no appeal. "You should remember that, Drusilla?"

Drusilla giggled and clapped her hands, "Oh yes, I remember. We'll paint a pretty picture in her blood. We'll drink and dance, drink and dance, drink and dance..." Drusilla began spinning, "Paint me a picture in the Slayers' blood, My Angel?" Dru pouted. Angelus lowered his hands on her body in a silent agreement. Spike just scowled.

"Of course Dru, whatever you want," Angelus promised in a sickly sweet voice.

"How are you going to kill her My Angel?" Dru asked, her wide eyes inquisitive and child-like. "Will it be like mine? Will you make _her _watch? Can I be Darla?" Dru giggled, and Spike, not having been with them at this point in time, didn't know to scowl – not that he'd stopped since Angelus had come back to the fold and 'claimed' Drusilla.

"No Dru," Angelus smirked as her face fell before he said, "It'll be a _hundred _times worse."

"Fine, fine, let's go get a midnight snack. Then you can go back to being the scourge of Europe. _In Europe,_" Spike insisted.

Drusilla seemed to being enjoying the debacle and watched the other two vampires fight quietly. Angelus remained playful and dominant and Spike was becoming more aggravated by the minute, "No, Spikey, I think it's about time I made myself a name right here. Sure, the scourge of Sunnydale doesn't have the same majesty to it but," his eyes roamed Drusilla hungrily, "It's not without its' benefits."

"I think I liked you better when you were getting pelvic with the Slayer," Spike muttered.

Angelus smirked, his hands still on Drusilla "So you've said."

Later on Angelus sat with a blank book in his hands, an earlier conversation weighting on his mind.

"_What if," Spike had began hopefully, "The Slayer and her pets figure out how to re-ensoul you? Maybe you should write things down. So that Dru and I can pick up where you left off."_

_Angelus knew that Spike was only saying it to rid him for the night so that he could have Drusilla to himself, but it was an interesting idea. Not that he'd tell Spike this, of course. "Spike, do you think I'm going to let you have my leftovers? I thought we got past that when you turned ten," he patronised. _

"_Sod." _

It wasn't a bad idea, and it was nice to know that after he was finished killing everyone The Slayer knew that there would be some evidence of his conquest to flow through the bloody cannals of history forever.

'_Jenny Calendar; Romanian clan. Undoubtedly trying to re-ensoul me for the Watcher,' _he began, '_Presumably quick death, hopefully not: she looks like a screamer.'_

Having little else to write and no interest in doing so, Angelus wrote one more word in large, bold letters, circling it repeatedly:

_**Acathala

* * *

**_

Well, there you go. As was mentioned, I'm not amazingly happy by how this turned out, but hoping that that's just me being overly critical. Continue this or just leave it? Reviews are welcome.


	3. About A Girl

So here's the next chapter, I know all of them have been pretty short so far, but that's mainly because I don't want them to drag. I hope they'll get longer as I develop the story, which may deviate from the canon; I'm not sure yet, honestly. Enjoy, reviews, comments, rambles and advice on how to improve are always welcome.

* * *

It was late and the library rang with the sounds of combat. Students had long since gone home for the day and the only two people left were a Watcher and his extremely lethargic Slayer.

Buffy sighed as she hit and punched exactly the way she was told and Giles became more and more frustrated by the second. It had been this way for some time now; ever since Angel had lost his soul. Giles was much less accommodating than he would have been in other circumstances, were he not also dealing with the loss of his love.

Giles, after receiving an extremely sloppy right hook to his arm instead of the target, finally snapped at his Slayer.

"Buffy, you're not focused," Giles scolded. "I understand that things are difficult -"

Buffy halted mid-punch and faced him defiantly. He had no idea just how difficult this was. She understood that he had lost Miss Calendar, and she felt for him, but they both knew that he couldn't comprehend what it was like to be her; they had had that conversation so many times. They both knew that this was different, though; it wasn't him being too adamant about her social life or refusing to give her a nights' reprieve to party, this was all consuming guilt about not killing the love of her life. Knowing that in reluctance to cause herself irreparable pain she was responsible for dozens of deaths. It was being solely responsible for the world. Again.

No, Giles definitely didn't understand.

"No Giles, you don't. You can't understand that this is difficult. How am I supposed to kill him?"

Just as Giles opened his mouth to protest, Buffy's face crumpled. "I know, that I should have... For Miss Calendar. Sooner, I should have killed him. But... When then demon took over Miss Calendar," she raised her eyes; tears were pooling and her voice was pleading for understanding and forgiveness, "Could you have killed her? Right away?"

"No. No, I don't suppose that I could have," Giles murmured. He was tempted to pull her into his arms in a fatherly gesture, but he knew that becoming emotionally attached would make it worse when he watched her die. He also knew that, in theory, this was a simple instruction to follow, but Giles already loved this girl utterly and completely as though she were his own flesh and blood. He was long gone, and he supposed that one day he would be reprimanded for it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Buffy trailed off, feeling guilty for bringing up Miss Calendar. She quickly tried to change the subject, "So," she began in a chipper voice, "How'd I do?"

"I, uh, quite well. Strength, speed, stamina; all excellent. Technique leaves something to be desired, but that's something that comes over time with more training."

Buffy looked disgruntled, "Giles, I've been the Slayer for two – going on three – years, if I haven't acquired a time-developed skill by now, I don't think I ever will," she pouted, dropping her fists to her sides, "Besides, it gives me the wiggins when you talk like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'll live long enough to develop my training properly."

"Buffy, you've outlived _many_ of your predecessors; you're exceedingly skilled and totally different from any Slayer before you. I'm not going to lie and say that it's absolutely certain that you'll live to marry and have children and watch them grow, but don't ever let doubt cloud your judgement."

The library fell silent and after a pregnant pause Buffy spoke again, "I..." she tried to explain, "I don't_ want _to die, but I guess I've accepted it? And..." she cast her eyes downwards, "If... I did. Die. I'd be... I mean, I think... I'd be wherever Angel is. I'd be okay."

*

Willy's Bar was a dank, lifeless place. It was thriving with the scum of the city and the blood of the good. Willy himself, though, never spared time for such existential thoughts as these, rather preferring to contemplate his bottom line compared to the number of injuries received over the financial year. He had as many enemies as he did allies, and more often than not the two were the same.

Willy was measuring a pint of oxen urine when the person he _thought_ was Angel walked in. Expecting either a good brooding or a good beating, Willy The Snitch was unshaken as he had taken enough of both from more species than he count. _Not, _that is, to understate Angel's brooding abilities, which were formidable.

"Angel my man," Willy began, his confidence faltering as he saw a before unknown level of malice etched across Angels' vampiric face. Willy knew that the only thing that could cause this sort of anger inside of Angel would involve the Slayer, he just didn't know how right he was. "Say, Angel, if this is about your Slayer -"

Angelus blocked Willy's windpipe and bared his fangs. "This is _very_ much about the Slayer. I'm going to need you to do a favour for me."

"Sure, sure, anything for you Angel," Willy assured, his eyes narrowing. A jolt of shock passed through him, "Your soul -"

"Has been let go due to personal differences," Angelus growled flippantly, "Now, that favour?"

Willy was much more frightened of doing a favour for the famed Angelus than the Slayer-loving Angel. "So, uh... I'm taking it that this favour isn't of the flowers and chocolate variety?" he joked feebly.

Angelus smirked and felt the same tingling of excitement that he had when planning Drusilla's ruining with Darla. "No, not exactly. I need it done tonight, call in all of the contacts that you have. Angel may have played nicely with you but," Angelus drew his fangs closer to Willy's neck and Willy instinctively gripped the bar tightly, "I don't suffer from the same clouded judgement."

"Alright!" Willy laughed nervously, "So what'd you want?"

* * *

And that's a wrap, hope you enjoyed this.

I'm just letting everyone know that if this doesn't get a few comments on it then I probably won't post another chapter, simply because I don't want to keep posting things that no one's reading. Reviews and advice are welcome. Let me know what you think.

Thanks for reading (:


	4. A Piece Of Me

**Authors' Note: **Once again, I don't own Buffy or any of its affiliates. They are all solely the property of Joss Whedon &etc.  
Next chapter!  
Oh, and I don't like Dawn. Plain and simple. I love the earlier seasons the way they are, with the mother-daughter bonding and no Dawn. So, she's not here.

* * *

"You want _what_?" Joyce asked disbelievingly. Buffy and Joyce both stood in the kitchen and Buffy crossed her arms defensively. They were in the middle of making dinner and the soup boiled over just as the tempers did.

"Just for a little while!" she whined.

"Buffy, you are _not_ borrowing my car. What do you need it for, anyway? It's late, shouldn't you be doing homework?"

"Mom, I told you, _no_ homework. I'm homework free."

"And you can stay car free too, until you pass your drivers exam."

"Mo-om!"

Buffy had been trying to persuade her mother to let her drive since forever. Just because she failed one _teensy _drivers' exam a _few_ times, it was no reason not to let her drive!

"Buffy, I'm putting my foot down on this. When you pass your driver's test_ then_ you can drive."

Joyce Summers was a loving woman. She cared about her daughter more than anything else in the entire world, but sometimes she felt like there was another side to her that she wasn't seeing; like there were two people there. She knew she was a good mother, but sometimes she didn't know who she was mothering.

_'More than likely at some point in their adolescence a teenager will rebel, and although some will become straight out defiant -'_ a_ Successful Mothering_ magazine had told her_, 'others will develop an alias; a second person to help them relate to and cope with different avenues of their life. A child could be partaking in hazardous adventures with their peers (whether that means using illicit substances or acts of violence) and present a semblance of serenity in their home life. The compartmentalisation of their feelings and traits allows them to achieve what they desire of both of their worlds. This is often the most difficult type of rebellion to detect as in more cases than not it is completely silent.' _

_'They may as well have named the book 'Buffy Summers, summed up in two chapters','_ Joyce mused as she scrubbed a dish with more force than necessary.

Without warning Buffy barrelled around the corner from the hall with a frightened expression on her face and dragged her mother outside hurriedly. Buffy knocked the dish out of Joyce's hands and it smashed into a hundred pieces. She doubled back to clean it up but her daughters grip was too strong. "No, we've gotta go!"

Buffy pushed her mother into the car and sprinted around the other side, jumping into the passengers' seat.

"Buffy, I am _not _letting you drive!" Joyce said sternly.

Buffy's face was as pale as a ghost as she laughed hysterically, "No mum, I know, I just think that you should you know, show me how to drive properly because my driving leaves so much to be desired and you've been driving for so long and you have a car and you can drive it and so you can show me how to drive the car -" her words were slurred together and her eyes continually darted towards the house.

Joyce cut her off, still not starting the engine. It was silent outside except for the crickets chirping and the barely audible thumping coming from their kitchen. What Joyce didn'tsee was a huge fyarl demon with its' eyes gouged out and a heart carved into its chest smashing its way into the back of their house. Buffy had seen this though, as well as a pair of Angel wings carved into its back as a clear message of whom the present was from.

This time it was Joyce's turn to fold her arms. She turned to face her daughter with her most serious face. "Buffy, I am not starting this car until you tell me what's going on."

"Mom, there's nothing going on," Buffy made an effort to calm herself. She needed to get her mother to leave and then they would stop at a nearby park. Then she would say that she had forgotten her purse and would run back to kill the demon. No, wait, she couldn't leave her mother alone in the park, not with all of the demons about. Maybe a petrol station. "Mom," she pleaded, "Please start driving."

"Fine, but you had better explain all of this to me when we get back."

"I will, Mom. Now _go_."

She wasn't sure whether her mother believed her or saw the panic in her eyes, but either way Joyce Summers began to drive down the street.

"Okay, so this is the gas pedal, you use this when – Buffy, are you listening to me?" Joyce stared incredulously.

"Huh? Yeah, I'm listening. Go on."

"Then what did I just say?"

Buffy groaned, "Oh come on Mom, what is this – school?"

"Buffy."

A pregnant pause ensued until Buffy finally said, "I guess just I zoned out for a minute."

"_What _is going on?"

"Oh, look! You need gas. We'd better go and get some gas. From the gas station. Just over here," Buffy pointed, subtly reaching for her door handle and preparing to run.

Joyce sighed, annoyed, and pulled into the station.

Meanwhile, at the Summers' residence a fyarl demon had smashed most of the plates and cupboards. Screeching in pain it hacked at everything that smelled like what had maimed it hours earlier.

Angelus smiled and kept pace a few steps in front of the demon, leading it through the house in a specific trail of destruction. He held in his hand someone who had said they'd known Buffy.

Or part of them, anyway.

Angelus had originally planned on killing the Slayers' mother when she had been busy training with the Watcher, but he decided that the scare would be much more satisfying than the kill. Willy had called in all of the contacts he knew fitting Angelus' description and left him alone with them. There had been fifteen. There was now one.

Angelus led the demon into the Slayers' room. He was quite aware that this thing wouldn't be able to kill her, but he'd have a lot of fun watching it try. Besides, as she had so often told him; she was his. His to love, his to consume.

_His _to kill.

He would be the one to kill the Slayer, of this he was sure.

Locking the demon in the bedroom from the inside, Angelus climbed out of the window and sat where his alter ego had but weeks ago for much less sinister reasons.

Right on cue the Slayer stomped into her bedroom. He watched her walk in and face the demon, and to his surprise a different kind of horror passed over her face.

"MR. GORDO!" she screamed, grabbing the stuffed pig from the demons' grasp. "_This_ little piggy is going to _kick. Your. Ass." _

The Slayer jumped and landed a kick to the demons' solar plexus, knocking it down. The fyarl shrieked in agony and quickly bounced back. However, the Slayer had an axe by this point and had no trouble in chopping its' head cleanly off.

The girl, obviously concerned for it, grabbed the stuffed animal once again and kissed it on the forehead. Angelus shuddered at the thought of his alter ego loving this; his lips _kissing _it.

"Oh, crap!" Buffy exclaimed. Although she had just beheaded this demon and it was definitely dead, she had no way of getting rid of it. "Crap! Aren't you supposed to melt when you die_? Melt!_" she commanded the corpse in vain. First sign of insanity; talking to a corpse. Second sign on insanity; talking to a _demon_ corpse. "Hey Mom, what's this? It's a science project! No, that's not real congealing green blood: it's jelly!" she said mockingly. "Crap."

After pacing frantically for several minutes, Buffy stopped. Hairs rose at the back of her neck and she got goose bumps on her arms; the kind you got when you were being watched.

_I wonder who would have done this_, she thought sarcastically. "Oh, look at me, I'm so helpless, this big demon is going to kill me!" she projected out the window.

Content with silence while she searched for the vampire her eyes searched over all of the tree branches but saw nothing but the night.

"No, it isn't," the vampire said to himself, skulking away, "I am."

*

"So you just shoved it _out the window?_" Willow asked disbelievingly. Xander just smiled goofily. It was last period and the three of them sat in the library and waited for Giles to finish substituting an English class for Snyder. Giles had been extremely annoyed about being asked to teach a class, especially since he had no teaching credentials and detested most of the student body at the school.

Buffy seemed slightly offended by her tone, "It touched Mr. Gordo," she said defensively. "Besides, I mutilated it and everything. It was a slimy thousand piece demon jigsaw puzzle by the time I was done."

Xander looked slightly queasy, "Thanks for the visual, Buff."

"How'd you explain it your Mom?" Willow asked, the girls both ignoring Xander.

Buffy groaned at the thought of that encounter. Her mother hadn't been happy at all and – Buffy thought – she only believed what Buffy told her because she _wished_ it was true.

"I told her that I saw two guys with balaclavas and knives heading for the house."

Willow mentally congratulated Buffy for the good cover story. "Did she actually believe you?"

"Yeah, but I think it was one of those believe-what-I-want-not-what's-obvious motherly things."

"Uh, Buff," Xander said, "I don't think that 'hey, my vampire ex lover brought a demon into the house to kill me' is the obvious in this situation."

Buffy looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yeah, I guess not."

*

It was a cloudy night and inside the mansion was silent; the presence of the undead assured that no animals would venture near the usually thriving outer garden.

Drusilla had been seated at the dining room table for several hours, just counting the individual dust specks.

Spike, who had been perched at the head of the table observing her all the while, finally broke the silence;

"Dru, did Angelus say where he'd gone? Tall, Dark and Forehead's usually back from dins by now," the subtle undertone of hope that Spike felt was carefully filtered out.

"He's dining with the Slayer," Dru grinned maniacally.

Spikes' reply was cut short by the nature of Drusilla's grinning. Maybe if the Slayer were dead, Angelus would leave. Spike still maintained hopes of Angelus once more being The Scourge of Europe.

In. Europe.

As if to remind him that he had no intentions of being in Europe, Angelus meandered into the mansion with severed cartilage from a human neck in hand. Throwing it haphazardly onto the table, Angelus sat. "Dru, I brought you a present."

Drusilla picked up the bleeding cartilage, running her tongue along them with childish glee. "Oh My Angel, I love it."

Spike sniffed it, "That's not the blood of the Slayer. She give you a spankin' again, eh?"

Angelus, well-learned in this game, rebuked; "No, I'll leave that to Drusilla."

Spikes' mouth contorted with rage as a growl reverberated in his chest.

"Now, now, Spike. Play nice," Dru said, running her hand across his chest. "Did you paint me a pretty picture, Angel?"

"Not yet Dru. But," he assured her, "I think I made my mark."

*

Buffy snuck expertly through her window after a good night of slaying and once inside her nostrils were met with something incredibly malodorous. Smelling herself, she crinkled her nose. "Demons of Sunnydale flee in fear of Buffy's B.O.," she sighed.

After a long shower Buffy walked back into her room and was overcome by the still-present smell.

"What the...?"

Finished checking her drawers, wardrobe and dresser, Buffy bent down to check under her bed.

All Buffy saw at first was a used tissue. Off-handedly dismissing the smell as something hidden and expired, she was halted by a tugging on her shoelace. As she bent down the object dislodged itself, remaining fractionally hidden under the bed.

Cringing from the smell, Buffy shoved her head energetically under the bed before halting as she met with the face of a girl in her year.

Buffys' screams echoed through the house and the girl remained silenced; her tortured eyes vacant forevermore.

*

Later on Angelus sat sketching in his book, a picture of a girls' severed head depicted in the centre of the page.

"Piece by piece..." he muttered to himself.

* * *

There you go, hope you liked! This chapter was a bit iffy for me, the next one'll be better, promise! Comments and reviews are welcome. Thanks for reading.


End file.
